


Titles are for creative people

by molrene



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, porn with a tiny bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molrene/pseuds/molrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless possessive!Sherlock and Molly smut. Also a pointless bit with embarrassed!John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titles are for creative people

Sherlock stared at Molly and Lestrade, using all of his willpower to keep from storming over to them and pulling Molly away from his flirtatious behavior. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but just watching the way Lestrade acted around her was enough to make him uncomfortable.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Molly said, smiling at Greg and hugging him before she walked away.

“Bye, Molly,” he replied, watching her as she left. He quickly looked away when he noticed Sherlock glaring at him.

“Sherlock, I've told you, there's nothing going on there. He's been flirting with me for ages, but he knows I'm not interested,” Molly said when she noticed the way he was glaring at Lestrade. 

“Fine. But if he lays a hand on you-”

“Yes, yes, I know, the next time I see him he'll be on a slab in front of me. We've been through this before. Leave the poor man alone, he's just lost his wife,” she said, taking his hand and walking with him outside. 

Molly never understood how every time Sherlock tried to hail a cab, one appeared within seconds, but she certainly wasn't questioning it as they climbed inside, escaping the chilly, evening air. 

The second they were inside 221B, Sherlock slammed the door shut, pushing Molly against the wall.

“What the hell are you-,” she began, but was cut off when he kissed her, biting down on her lower lip and making her gasp. He easily lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. She dropped her purse on the floor, winding her fingers through his curly hair, returning the kiss passionately as he carried her up the stairs. 

“You're mine,” he growled into her ear, holding her against the wall and pinning her wrists above her head. She could feel him softly grinding against her leg, and her blood felt like fire pouring through her veins. Her heart slammed against her chest, and her breathing became erratic. 

“I want you,” he whispered against her neck, sucking and biting as he moved down to her collarbone. He deftly unbuttoned her shirt with one hand, freeing her arms to pull it completely off. She clung to him, her arms locked around his neck as he continued to undress her. She was down to nothing but her underwear, and she could already feel bruises beginning to form. 

“Now this is hardly fair,” she said, forcing off his jacket and beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt. He took off his trousers, and she held her hands against his chest, pressing their lips together with urgency. She fought his dominance with her own, and it only encouraged him. He groaned as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra, making her laugh. 

“Need some help with that?” she asked, reaching behind her back and unclasping it easily with just two fingers.

“Why is that so bloody hard?!” he asked himself, throwing it backwards before cupping her breasts and making her moan softly. She tugged off her panties as he pulled her towards the table in the kitchen, carelessly shoving all of his papers off of it to lay her down. He disposed of his boxers, and thrusted into her without warning, making her groan and press her head into his shoulder.

“God, you're wet,” he exclaimed, pulling out and slamming back into her. She cried out, throwing her head back and adjusting her hips to the steady rhythm he was working up. She came within minutes, screaming and scraping her nails down his back. He slowed to a stop, giving her a moment to catch her breath. She slid off the table, pressing their lips together softly.

“Come on, let's go somewhere more comfortable,” she said, and he followed her to the couch. She forced him to lie down and she planted her legs on either side of him, and slowly moving down. Sherlock instinctively put his hands on her hips, closing his eyes as she started a slow pace.

She seemed to know when he needed more or less, gradually moving faster, and it wasn't long before he was groaning and gasping at her every move. He cried out her name when he came, his back arching and his fingers gripping her sides hard enough to leave marks. After he came, she reached down and started stroking her clit, leaning back and adjusting her hips to hit her g spot, quickly bringing herself to her second climax. 

She then collapsed onto his chest, exhausted and flustered. He began to stroke her hair, picking her up bridal-style and carrying her to his room. 

“You know I love you, right?” she murmured, looking up at him with half-closed eyes as he laid her down as gently as he could, pulling the blankets up over her. 

“I know,” he said, leaning down and kissing her forehead softly. “I love you, too,” he whispered as he laid down next to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder. It wasn't long before they were both snoring softly.

 

The next morning, when John walked into the living room, he stopped before nearly tripping over Sherlock's abandoned shirt. He looked down at the floor, his eyes widening at the sight of a woman's clothes also among the mess. He noticed the half cleared off table and the pile of papers strewn across the floor, and shuddered. The sight didn't leave much to the imagination.

“Do I dare look in his room?” he muttered to himself, walking cautiously towards Sherlock's bedroom. He slowly opened the door and saw Sherlock and Molly curled up together, and he quickly shut the door, walking back to the living room and pacing, not sure what he should do. He cleared the papers off the floor, stacking them on the table for Sherlock to sort through later. He left their clothes in a pile in front of the bedroom, hoping to leave before they woke up. He was halfway down the stairs when he cursed himself for leaving his mobile on the table, turning around and hurrying to retrieve it. 

“John!” he heard Sherlock yell, and he turned to see him standing there stark naked, with just his hands clasped in front of him to cover what little he could. John immediately turned back round, shutting his eyes. 

“Sherlock-,” he began.

“You...weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow,” Sherlock said, cutting him off.

“Oh my god,” was all John could muster in response.

“Maybe you should-,” 

“Yeah, I think I will,” he said, running out of the flat and slamming the door behind him.


End file.
